Third date
by Whispering Darkness
Summary: Quentin was just a college student (and 'Q' a cautious hacker.) MI6 was an agency he had absolutely nothing to do with, aside from residing in the same country. And all of this was not quite a mistake - because he'd been well aware of how risky it was and had still consciously decided on taking the chance. It could turn out to be a severe miscalculation, but he did it anyway.
1. First Date

_**First date**_

* * *

Quentin could admit to himself that sometimes he tended to get stuck in the digital world, as opposed to what was for most people considered the 'real' one. Considering that the real world was chaotic, unpredictable and boring at turns it wasn't surprising that he tended to shy away from interactions there and took to his laptop instead.

So while other people his age sought each other out for various kinds of social interactions or just got spectacularly drunk for no benefit he could discern, Quentin had other things to occupy his time with that seemed of greater importance to him – and near all of it was either found, or learned, online. Though, perhaps, not always in a place he was _officially_ allowed access.

That didn't matter in the end, because if Q was anything, it was a very quick learner and he learned not just from his own experiences, but also from his fellow hackers' mistakes.

Q was cautious enough to learn the lay of the land before doing anything and the young hacker honed his skills by slipping in and out of systems without making any changes or copying any data that could be traced back to him.

And he was paranoid enough to go to extremes, layer upon layer of security and false trails, to protect his identity, location and IP.

But even with all his precautions, with learning slowly and ghosting around the digital world and secure networks like nothing more than an easily dismissed bug, there was still something exciting about it – about the challenge of it and the information he could find and learn on a variety of secure networks. The digital world sang to him, a humming tune that Q could follow so much easier than anything else.

But no matter how much he loved spending his time online, Quentin still knew better than to think he could retreat into that world entirely – and that was not just due to his mother's nagging when he still lived at home to spend less time up in his room but to socialise or do his _actual_ homework for once.

Besides, continuing on to higher education after high school was pretty much a must, and Q was aware enough of society's demands that he gave in gracefully enough.

His family had been utterly surprised by his choice for Mechanical Engineering as opposed to Computer Science but for him it was no more than logical to focus on something _besides_ his passion for computers – after all, he didn't want to get bored when school tried to teach him things he already knew or would be working on in his free time anyway.

Instead Quentin actually got to learn something new in his daylight hours. Classes were fine – it was easy enough to keep up with the coursework as long as he worked efficiently, which he always did. Most of the lectures were rather boring as the teacher explained in such a way that even the dimmest of students could keep up, so he generally let his mind wander, working out engineering sketches or algorithms in his notebook. But some of the practical workshops were actually useful and aside from his homework, he also had access to the workshop for his own projects.

So on a whole, he found that he didn't regret his choice at all.

And next to his university, in the digital world he thrived in, Q did some white hat hacking and mostly kept an eye on his fellow hackers - infiltrating their systems unnoticed.

In a way it was more dangerous to go after his fellow hackers than after the sort of companies or governments that most hackers dared themselves, or each other, to infiltrate. But in a way it was safer too, because hackers were generally loners and whatever revenge they wanted to take, they would take it digitally which was arguably less permanent than the physical world because Q was _good_ and could start over again from scratch if necessary.

He'd already made sure he was as untraceable as possible in real life by building his laptop from several components paid for in cash and never hacking from home to ensure that his IP could not be linked to him – should someone somehow break through his defences.

And, of course, there was also the fact that a hacker wouldn't have the means to go after him in force as governmental agencies could.

So, yes, he hacked the hackers, as invisibly as he could, and he watched and learned and dodged and made sure he was aware of the developments and possibilities out there in the digital world. He kept his head down, tested his own skills but didn't really _do_ anything obvious aside from looking and learning and testing and honing his own skills. And that was enough for him.

Until one evening when he hacked someone with the handle 'H8' and found that this person had either recovered or collocated a list of agents' names from a governmental agency. Not just _any_ agency either – a British one. MI6.

He read through the list, considered the implications and finally, breathlessly, hacked the agency himself, very, _very_ , carefully to verify. And found that _yes_ , as far as Q could tell from his checks on several of the names the list was accurate.

He hesitated and used the backdoor he'd left open in H8's connection, stealthily digging through the hacker's systems until he could track the IP to a café. From there it was only a matter of accessing the security cameras to find a roughly thirty-year old man intensely working on a laptop.

Then Quentin swallowed, his fingers hovering above the keyboard for a long moment, because the choice he was to make now could end up having severe consequences.

His breathing was heavy, sounding loud in his ears despite the white noise of chatter from other people further away in the room he was sitting in.

But he made his choice.

Some hackers worked on an 'honour amongst thieves' type of moral code, others were only looking out for themselves and the biggest payday – or boast.

Q fell into neither of those categories. H8 most certainly fell into the second.

A judgement he felt was valid, because H8 was someone he had come across before and most of what he'd seen had made his nose wrinkle up as if it was subject to an unpleasant smell.

So the brilliant hacker didn't feel particularly guilty, just resolved and a little bit terrified when he finally decided to step out of the shadows to very politely inform MI6 of the situation.

He considered his quiet corner and let his gaze skim over the rest of the interior of the Ziferblat cafe. It was not busy at this time and most people gravitated to the comfortable lounge seats, so there was no-one seated nearby who'd be able to see what he was doing. Q nodded to himself and forged on.

Taking a deep breath, he remotely turned on the largest screen he could find in the department he felt was most relevant to his needs, listed as the quartermaster branch, and started typing.

'Q: Please pardon the intrusion', he started, watching the words appear on a large screen visible on the hacked feed from MI6 itself that took up a corner of his laptop screen.

He then hesitated on how to bring this diplomatically and in such a way that they would actually believe him. He did _not_ care to be hunted down by a governmental agency in return for his act as Good Samaritan.

'While I consider myself a white-hat hacker, I feel that speed is more important than legality in this case, hence my rather bold action. Aside from testing companies' defences I also have a tendency of hacking hackers – not maliciously, but to keep an eye on developments and possibilities. An hour ago I came across something on a hacker's systems that may be of vital importance to you. Please let me know if you are reading this… (y/n).'

His lips twisted just a little as he watched the chaos his message caused amongst the tech branch. It took nearly ten minutes before someone finally pressed the 'y' on the keyboard that was linked to the screen he had taken over. They were clearly trying to trace him and he vowed to keep a sharp eye on how close they came.

'This is a list, presumably originating from your servers, though it is also possible that the hacker known as H8 collocated it himself.' As he typed this, he threw the list in question up on the left side of his hijacked screen, shifting his text to the left.

Then he paused, realising how this would come across.

'I realise that as a hacker currently inside of your system I have made myself your number one suspect with this course of action. Still, I hope you will at least consider running down the information I present you with. If not, I will at least have achieved one thing. That your agents will be aware of a threat to their identities as well as the possibility that their mission details may well have been leaked.'

He paused in his broadcasting for a moment to ensure the people tracking him wouldn't find him, throwing up several more digital roadblocks. It would also give them some time to digest his words before he continued on.

'As far as I am aware, this is H8.' – he threw up the current feed from the coffee shop, replacing the list. 'His IP places him here' - he decreased the video's size on the screen and added a satellite image of the man's current location to the display. 'Of course, when it comes to hackers there is always the possibility of error due to false trails, but I consider that only a minor possibility at this point in time.'

He hesitated. He had informed them of the threat – not quite an anonymous tip but as close as he could manage with any form of urgency. He supposed he should leave it up to them now. A spy agency should be perfectly capable of dealing with a situation as this, shouldn't they?

'I am uncertain whether I should offer to remove the information from this man's laptop. It should mitigate the immediate problem, of course, but it will also get rid of any evidence - and any information trail you might be able to follow from his laptop would be muddied. But then, I suppose any proof is already suspect as I may as well have placed it there. Which would admittedly not be particularly difficult. And although I can find no print command for the file on his laptop, he may have taken a photograph, sent out a copy, or used some other method to record the data so erasing it is no assurance of anything either.'

He paused and considered the situation for a moment more before sighing.

'Still, for the safety of your agents it may be best to remove what I can. But I am no governmental agency – surely you have some form of opinion in this?'

After another long delay, a simple, hesitant looking soul pressed the 'n' on the keyboard.

'… you do realise that the fact that I am capable of discerning whether you press an 'n' or a 'y' on the keyboard indicates that I am also aware of any other keys you press? A more elaborate answer might have been helpful in this case. Still, I shall take that as a 'no'.'

'I will leave you to it, then? I'm not certain if I can be of any more help aside from this and that what you can now see below; H8's IP address. I hope my own is still safe after this rather unwise endeavour. Do keep your agents safe, please? I would like this to be at least somewhat worth whatever consequences may follow from either involved party.'

He hesitated for a moment and then figured, in for a penny in for a pound, and drew up the type of white hat hacker report he usually did. 'Also. Since I'm here – I've noticed some holes in your security, please refer to the report now available on your servers. And, once again, pardon the intrusion.'

'Wait', someone typed. The camera feed showed him that this was someone else entirely than the technician who had replied to his queries before.

Q blinked and waited. 'Yes?'

'How do we know that this is valid information? And you're not trying to manipulate us into going after one of your enemies?'

'I would assume that you have your ways. If your investigative skills are as poor as your digital security I shall be rather worried about the defence of our fair country. I am merely encouraging you to do what you supposedly do best: find out who is threatening your own and keep our country safe. If you would. Please. So, goodbye.'

The broad-shouldered man who'd muscled into the situation and had claimed the seat in front of Q's hijacked screen looked up at Q's reply. 'Wait,' the man, agent he guessed, typed again.

Quentin paused for a moment, aware that the man was just stalling now. And yet - the slow smirk he could see forming on the man's face was maddening, but impossible to look away from. 'What now?'

'You're from England? Is that why you're helping us?'

He pursed his lips and decided against confirming that. 'As difficult as you may find it to believe, I am, indeed trying to help you.'

'Well, that's fortunate, because I have something you could help me with,' the agent typed with his smirk gaining an edge of satisfaction.

'From that utterly scandalous look on your face I am rather afraid to ask,' Q replied, a remark that kicked the gaggle of presumably IT personnel that had been ineffectively scurrying around back into more frantic movement again.

The man's eyebrows rose but he didn't start looking around for cameras and didn't lose his air of amusement either. 'You're a hacker, right?'

'Obviously. Do you require any further proof of that?'

'Well, since you offered… On my last mission I was sent to China and my target got away. I brought back his laptop, but so far the techies haven't been able to trace him.'

And that was a clear challenge that Q would be wise not to be dragged into any further. But he was curious and since he was already _there_ , metaphysically speaking, well it would be rude to refuse. So he delved a little deeper into MI6's servers until he located expenses for foreign travel, found China on the list and discovered the name of this particular agent. Which made it easier to find the agent's mission files.

After a quick look around to ensure his corner of the café was still private, he linked up his headset to convert his spoken words into text displayed on that screen. The voice recognition software was his own design, good enough to distinguish his own voice from the background noise and to pick up a quiet word even in a crowded room. This left his hands free to hack as well as for a quick response to whatever the people from MI6 tried to throw at him.

"Your most recent mission, Agent Trevelyan?" he said softly, his words appearing on the screen in their quartermaster branch, "Ah, a Mister S. Tseng, was it? Quite a piece of work. Did he insult your manly prowess? Is that why you're so dead-set on finding him?"

'My manly prowess is just fine,' the agent typed back, seemingly unoffended, 'How's yours I wonder? Can you even find him?'

"While I do have pride in my skills, I'm not sure what's so very manly about them. In fact, what makes you so certain I'm not a woman?"

'Breaking into MI6 like this and then baiting me? You're a woman with balls at least.'

Q shook his head at the bluntness he wasn't much accustomed to. "I did apologize for the intrusion. I was actually trying to be polite about the whole thing. And, well, not piss of a beehive of trained killers."

'Well if you're going to be polite about it, I'm sure you wouldn't mind doing me this one small favour.'

Despite the banter that came to him naturally when he was speaking, Q was already working on it. It wasn't easy because he only had a name to go on, as well as several last known locations with a timestamp. He went through the known associates, hacked into their phone records, piggybacked onto a satellite to get the GPS coordinates of several possible phones and – actually found the person who matched the photograph.

He threw his new find up on the screen, replacing the camera footage of H8 with one of Tseng and adapting the location marker blinking on the map below. It was, embarrassingly enough for the Chinese man, webcam footage. When would people learn to permanently disable the built-in webcams in their laptops? You'd think they would know better.

"Is this the man you're looking for?" he politely queried, despite being relatively certain of his find.

'When is this,' the blond-haired agent asked, sitting up straight in his seat, face serious.

"Now," Q immediately replied. "I am now remotely installing this GPS tracker with the man's location onto this hard drive – your own people should be capable enough to put it on your phone if necessary. Do be aware that the tracker is linked to his phone, not the man himself."

The man's eyebrows went up. 'I'm a trained MI6 agent. You think I don't know that?'

"Well, as your technical department was not able to find this Tseng, despite the fact that your mission was 'completed' over a week ago and they had physical access to his laptop, I thought it best not to overestimate anyone's technical knowledge within your organisation."

The snarky tone wasn't entirely bluster either – he _had_ believed that an organisation like MI6 would have far better means and security than they had. It was rather disappointing, though he supposed it _did_ bode well for his own chances of getting out of this with his anonymity intact.

'Ouch,' Trevelyan typed back, smirking again.

"Will that be all, agent?"

The agent leaned back a little, looking utterly satisfied with himself for some inexplicable reason. 'How about your own location?'

"I don't invite anyone over before the third date, agent. Otherwise people will consider me 'easy'."

'Who cares about what people think,' the agent responded.

"Well, easy is rather boring as well, isn't it? Let's try it the hard way instead," Q answered, feeling his heart beat in his throat from his own ridiculous daring. It was easier from the safety of his own laptop, secure in his anonymity but it was still both thrilling and utterly terrifying to banter like this with a dangerous-looking agent.

'Ooh, feisty little hacker, aren't you?'

"It's like you know me already. Safe travels, Agent Trevelyan. Q signing off."

* * *

That should have been the end of it.

But now that Quentin had actually done something concrete with his hacking skills he was both nervous – paranoid really – and, well, excited about it.

It had been bold and inadvisable, certainly. But it had also been the most thrilling thing he had _ever_ done. The whole endeavour had been challenging and almost addicting.

It certainly made him somewhat more understanding why his fellow students pulled the ridiculous stunts that they did. Pure adrenaline, probably. Q just got his rush in a different, and far more sensible, way than his age-mates.

So, yes, the young hacker kept track – as invisibly as he could. And when, during one of his classes, he got the alert that he'd forwarded to his phone, he nervously waited for the class to end and skipped the rest of the day.

He left campus entirely, bought a first class train ticket and sat in a quiet train to a neighbouring city.

Then he found the GPS linked to Tseng, noted it was still in the same location, and hacked into the cameras of a warehouse in China where he had tracked the man to before.

He found the Chinese man on his screens easily enough.

And he also found the agent he had communicated with before. It had been Trevelyan's entry into the warehouse that had set off his alert.

Q watched through the security cameras at the people already lying still in several of the hallways and at how the agent took down all remaining opposition with frightening efficiency and, in Quentin's own opinion, utter brutality. And then the agent reached Tseng – and took him down too. Permanently.

This was far more violent than Quentin had ever expected and he was thankful that the only people who could possibly see him flinch at the real-life images were strangers on a train.

He took a deep breath and hijacked the dead man's computer to write with shaky hands in his usual script.

'Q: You're quite terrifying, Agent Trevelyan.'

The man grinned madly at reading that message and Q felt both threatened and immensely gratified at the same time. Even more so, on both counts, when the other man sat down in front of the computer, surrounded by dead bodies, and answered him.

'Good evening to you too, Q. Did you get curious? Or are you the mastermind behind some kind of overreaching criminal organisation that Tseng is part of?'

Q shook his head and willed his hands to stop shaking by reminding himself that he was halfway across the world from this deadly, dangerous man. When he answered, he did so with a truth that would hopefully dissuade the organisation from this kind of violent response - should they ever, somehow, find him.

Which they shouldn't.

It provided only a slight hint to his real identity that, considering that most hackers of his calibre were young, he didn't feel was a big risk.

'Considering how dull company life seems to me… Perhaps that will be a more desirable option for me after I finish college.'

'You're a kid? Really?'

'So people try to convince me. I'm not fooled by these so-called adults at all, though,' he answered despite the fact that he, at 20, definitely counted as an adult himself. He grimaced as he typed that, because for some reason he didn't want this man to see him as a child but as a capable person.

Logically, though, it was a sound decision to make MI6 underestimate him. And it might encourage them to take it easy on him, should he ever get caught.

Trevelyan shook his head with that same grin. 'You can always join a governmental agency after you finish school. No need to go super villain.'

'But that sounds so… legal,' he joked.

'Does it? Hmm, than you're probably doing it wrong.'

Q actually huffed out a laugh at that, despite how morbid the whole situation was. 'Well, you've certainly opened my eyes regarding what is and isn't considered an excessive use of force. I'll make a note to erase my entire existence after this.'

'Aww, don't be like that. Whatever happened to all that feistiness?'

'It remembered being shoved against lockers by those more lacking in the brain department, noted that violence is highly uncomfortable and is reconsidering all of its life choices.'

'Don't worry little hacker. I would only shoot you a little.' Was that a leer on the man's face?

'Is this how Russians flirt?' he asked, emboldened by anonymity.

A brief pause in their communication. 'I'm not making you uncomfortable, am I, kid?'

And Q honestly couldn't tell if the man genuinely meant that – the smirk he'd been wearing before had faded into a more serious expression so it didn't _seem_ like he was joking. Strange.

'Oh no, do carry on. Ill-advised flirtation is what college is for, or so I've been duly informed.'

'Oh, splendid. I'm an expert when it comes to ill-advised ideas.'

'I've read your file, agent. I am entirely unsurprised. And speaking of ill-advised ventures, this was certainly one of them. So if you would please excuse me.'

'Leaving already? Homework to do?'

'It's around dinner time in England. Everyone needs to eat. Which is why I hope that the image of you sitting casually surrounded by recently killed people is not enough to put me off of food entirely.'

'You should try steak with vodka,' the man advised, complete with sage nod.

'Yes, I'm sure that will end well,' Q replied, 'thank you for yet another splendid idea, agent. Q signing off.'

Slowly he closed the laptop and let out a shaky breath. For a long moment he stared out the window without actually seeing what lay beyond them. The train carried him on towards Liverpool and once there he switched trains and went back again immediately, not at all keen on spending time anywhere but the safety of his home.

When he finally made his way back to the flat he lived in, the familiar building coming into sight calmed him a little and he tried to push the day's experience from his mind.

He trudged up the stairs, because their elevator still hadn't been fixed. Just as any other time that he was in the stairwell, he found himself becoming resolute at delving into the mechanics of elevators and fixing the damn thing himself. He made a mental note to actually _do_ it this time.

But even engineering challenges weren't enough to take his mind completely off the frightening but challenging world of governmental agencies, spies and Agent Trevelyan.

* * *

 **A.N.** Just, you know, bothering yet another fandom for no particular reason. Hopefully after I get this out of my system I can get back to the bunch of unfinished stories to my name.


	2. Second Date

_**Second date**_

* * *

Quentin considered himself a cautious person. Even when taking risks he tried to cover all eventualities in advance to reduce these risks as much as possible.

One of his most recent safeguards was an alert left within the organisation whose attention he had drawn, which focussed on a series of keywords – a combination of the capital letter 'Q' with target, Trevelyan or hacker.

So far it had kept him up to date on the reports about his interference before. Nothing _too_ worrisome yet. They were trying to find him, it seemed, but he could find no specific threat of hunting him down.

 _This_ , though, this was unexpected. It could very well be a trap. It would be logical for them to try and trap him. And yet… what if it _wasn't_?

He shouldn't risk his own safety like this, but he was good at what he did. Q was aware that he was objectively quite intelligent and all he really needed was to be smarter than them. If he could do _that_ then they wouldn't be able to catch him even if he did take the bait. And he _had_ to take it, because he'd never forgive himself if this was real, if he could have helped but did nothing.

But Q wouldn't be Q if he was going to jump in blindly and took the whole thing on faith.

So he dug deep into MI6's systems, using a programme of his own design to disguise his presence so no warning signals were tripped. He looked through everything related to the current situation with an analytic eye; mission reports, threat analysis, everything he could get his digital hands on. Then he moved on to trace an Agent Bond's footsteps as best he could by other means than MI6, using camera footage, social media and other electronics near to where the man's mission had taken him to find traces of the agent's presence.

In the end everything seemed consistent, but he didn't have enough data to track the blue-eyed agent down. He needed _more_ than what he could find in their files – a concrete link such as a name, a photograph or a phone to track.

Or just more time.

But if he understood the situation correctly, time was rather pressing.

He went back to the initial message, a message from the agency that had likely been entered into the system by their quartermaster branch where Q would easily find it.

Requesting his help.

For a long moment he hesitated, and then he sighed and disembarked the train.

To do something stupid.

Not quite a _mistake_ , because he was well aware of how risky it was and still consciously decided on taking the chance. It could be a severe miscalculation, but Q did it anyway.

He turned down a familiar path and entered the Sheffield Botanical Gardens. Once there he sought an out of the way place, set up his laptop, took out his burner phone and made the call. Not to the number he'd been requested to call in the message, of course, which would undoubtedly lead to the quartermaster branch – or worse. No, if he was getting involved than he was doing it on his own terms. And he dug deeply enough in MI6's system to find exactly who Bond was supposedly friends with – and who was likely behind the message to Q in the first place.

"Is your friend truly missing, Agent Trevelyan," he said immediately when he heard the phone connect, "or is this a very elaborate trap?"

There was a moment of very loud silence on the other side, one that did little to soothe his nerves.

"Is that you, Q?"

He felt a jolt of surprise run though him at hearing the other man's voice for the first time. "Yes," he said softly, feeling far more subdued than in their earlier banter – partly due to the fact that this man's friend could be in significant danger but also because they were actually speaking to each other now. One layer of anonymity had fallen away and it left him feeling rather exposed.

"Bond's in trouble," Agent Trevelyan told him in a deep, rumbling voice, "I'm here, on the ground and I still can't find a trace of him."

"No trace at all?" Q asked with a frown, "Because you need to give me _something_ Agent Trevelyan. Something more than available on MI6 servers. A name of someone involved, technology Bond might be carrying that I can trace, even the serial number of the mobile phone or earpiece that he carried would help. No identification number is listed on his equipment form and MI6 has issues hundreds of either to their employees over the years. I need to know which needle I'm trying to find."

"I've already tried calling him, Q. His phone is dead."

Q shook his head, even if the man couldn't see it. A habit he'd never quite broken. "Even if it's dead _now_ , I might be able to find a trace of where it was before," he explained, "Link your mobile up to your laptop."

"Why?" the agent asked, but from the sounds of it he was doing something – hopefully exactly as Q told him.

"Because, agent, I will help you find your friend," Q infused his voice with as much confidence as he could muster, which drained away quickly when he realised that this may still be just MI6 driving him into a corner, "…or, alternatively, walk right into your trap. I'm clever, though, so I'm confident that I'll manage to walk right back out again."

He was partly bluffing, but saying it out loud made him feel better about doing this anyway.

"Not a trap," Trevelyan promised him, tone not placating but steady and serious. Quentin wanted to believe in that but wasn't sure if he _should_. Either way, he'd already made his choice.

Q breathed in and out. "For the sake of a certain missing agent, I will have to believe that."

"It's linked up," the agent informed him a moment later.

"Good," he said, forcefully dragging his focus back to the matter at hand – the man that they were both committed to rescuing. "You're in the Lotus Hotel, room 59? Ah here we are, hello there agent."

"Did you hack into the hotel's cameras?"

"I did," Q admitted, "but I can assure you that there are no security cameras in your room. Aside, of course, from the built-in camera in your laptop – which _you_ of all people should know better than to keep uncovered. Did you _not_ notice where the feed I showed you of the late Mr. Tseng originated from? You may believe your laptop is secure because it was issued by MI6, but I would caution you not to be too overconfident in their cyber security. Nothing is every _truly_ secure or untraceable and, as H8 might attest, arrogance has been many a hacker's downfall."

Trevelyan just hummed, a sound that could mean either agreement or scepticism and Q fell silent for a moment, though his fingers never stopped running over his keyboard. "Yes, I do realise the irony in my own actions," he finally said, not sure why he felt the need to add this, "the difference is that I am quite aware of the risks of helping you."

"Then why do you?"

Q was silent again, unsure of what to say. He had a handful of truths that he could give, such as that he held some pride and loyalty to his own country and that he respected those who risked their lives and safety for them all. Or that no-one deserved a fate such as might be awaiting Agent Bond. He could say that it was the right thing to do – the only choice his own morals would allow him to make in this situation. He could even admit that for some incomprehensible reason he felt rather inclined to help simply because Agent Trevelyan had _asked_ him to, despite never having met the man in person.

But in the end what he said was just this; "Because I _want_ to, agent. Now shush and let me work."

"Very well, Q, I'm _shushing_."

Q's typing faltered for a moment before he shook his head and forged on. How was it even _possible_ for someone to make something so simple sound this scandalous?

He worked on tracking Bond's mobile from the call Agent Trevelyan had made to the number before and smiled at the fact that even while the other agent dutifully remained silent, he didn't hang up. The sound of his own typing was the only one to fill the silence, his burner not good enough to bring across the background sound of Trevelyan's breathing.

But he knew that the man was there and for some reason that was a nice thought.

* * *

"Ah," Q said out loud when he found what he was looking for.

"Did you find him, Q?"

"I found _something_ ," he replied, still frowning at his laptop, "this is, however, an area without much in the way of camera surveillance. Which means my long-distance options are rather limited here."

"My turn then," Trevelyan said, standing up and preparing his weapons.

"Do you have an earpiece, agent?"

"Yes. It's linked up to MI6."

He fell silent for a moment, because _of course_ it was linked to MI6. This man was one of their operatives – and another one of their operatives had gone missing. The organisation was well and truly involved, it was _Q_ who had no place here – who was the intruder. He'd just forgotten for a moment, caught up in his own world as he tended to get.

"Well, I suppose you could take all of this and inform your agency that you have a lead. That would be logical. I'm sure they can handle it from here."

Alec purposefully turned towards the laptop camera, with a grin on his face that hinted at trouble. "I thought you didn't want to overestimate our tech abilities?"

"Ah, I apologize for the insult. I tend to get overly honest when I'm nervous."

"Competence and honesty, how very refreshing," Trevelyan drawled in an amused tone.

The grin was lost from his face a moment later, a more serious look taking its place. "I could use your help on this, Q. We don't have enough to be certain – if I call MI6 in now, that will make it far more difficult for you to assist later if this _doesn't_ get us what we need. And I _need_ to find him. I won't chance his life on the efforts of our tech branch."

And Q was perfectly aware that his could still be a trap – while he believed that Bond was truly in trouble, that fact didn't automatically negate the possibility that at the end of this, Trevelyan would find a way to inform MI6, and would hunt him down.

The more Q got involved, the more time he spent helping this agent the larger the chance that he would leave a trace, that he'd give something away that could lead to him.

And yet, there was no way he could say no.

"Alright. Serial number please?" Q said, hoping he sounded brave and determined, instead of as shaky as he felt.

Trevelyan rattled off the number on his earpiece and Q re-routed it to himself, a far more tangible link than he liked to allow on his own laptop, but it couldn't be helped.

If he was doing this than he was _doing_ this. A life depended on him not messing this up – somewhere out there was a blond, blue-eyed man with a charming smile, a soldier, a defender, a friend and, to Quentin, a total stranger. But one who counted on him all the same.

"I've got you, Trevelyan," he said over the phone before hanging up. Moments later he heard the man's voice through the computer headset he hastily put on. "Q?"

And yes, he was getting used to being called by his hacker name in that slow, considering voice.

"I'm here," he affirmed, "Let's go and get your friend, Agent Trevelyan."

* * *

It was quite something, supporting an operative during a real-life mission. Even if it was an unofficial one. Lives were at stake – both Trevelyan and Bond were counting on him and one mistake on Q's part could cost them both dearly.

It was utterly nerve-wrecking in that regard.

And yet, testing his skills like this against criminals – uncovering information as quickly as he could because Trevelyan was right there on the ground and couldn't afford to wait… Yes, Q could admit that despite the way his heart was beating manically, he did actually _thrive_ with the challenge of it all. His agent was depending on him and Q would damn well deliver, but this left him no time to focus on his own cyber defence.

So Q had to trust in the security he had set up in advance – which was, of course, as secure as he could make it. But the best defence was unpredictability and decreasing the length of exposure. He couldn't shift his defences or back-hack and he couldn't kill the connection he was piggybacking on at MI6 because that would also kill the connection he had with Trevelyan.

Records on Bond's mobile phone had led him close and Trevelyan sniffing around and luring in some of the bad guys had quickly provided Q with further leads. It gave him faces and mobile phones, which meant he had more tangible and up-to-date connections to trace. From there it wasn't a matter of difficulty but of speed. Phone records, remote activation of GPS, hacking into security cameras… and there he was.

"I have eyes on Bond," he informed his agent. "There's three men, erm… well, beating him up. And one apparently monologuing. Fortunately there is no sound."

It was only partly a joke in the hopes to lighten the mood and calm his own nervousness, but in truth he was glad that he didn't need to hear these proceedings. The video footage was bad enough as it was and made him grimace with a sympathy that bordered on panic whenever a blow connected. He swallowed it down, though, and told himself to _focus_.

"Where?" Trevelyan asked with a calm, deep voice that managed to ground him a little further.

"Old office building, on a parallel street to your left. Number 100. Do _not_ enter."

The GPS showed that his agent was already moving towards the building he had indicated. "What, you want invite them over for tea first?" the man asked him sarcastically.

Q snorted and hacked into the security system as quickly as he could, calling up the blueprints to the building on his split screen. "I do enjoy a good cup of Earl Grey. But no. Sneaking in would be the most opportune way to go about things. There's a fire escape leading up to the second floor. It has an electronic lock that I am now ready to open for you."

Trevelyan paused but, to Q's surprise due to the mission files he'd read, actually did as he was told. Biting his lip, the hacker hesitated for a moment between the feed from Bond and the blueprints but in the end minimalized the blueprints on the screen, replacing them with security footage of the hallway Agent Trevelyan would end up in.

"I need more screens," he complained out loud, because this whole set-up wasn't exactly ideal for his purposes. His laptop was customised to his requirements, of course, but didn't allow him to multitask as much as he wanted – no, _needed_ to.

The only thing that would make the circumstances for hacking even _worse_ was if an employee of his current location showed up to kick him out. A distinct possibility, because the sky was already darkening slightly and he was barely aware of the current time. A glance at the bottom right of the screen gave him no more than 30 minutes before the Botanical Gardens closed for the day.

"Two bad guys in the hallway, to your left after you enter," Q cautioned the man.

The agent entered and shot them both with little fanfare. "Bad guys? Really?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, did you have a preferred term?" he shot back, trying to ignore his queasy stomach at the ease with which these men had died. At Q's call.

Trevelyan snorted, "MI6 generally uses hostiles."

"If you wanted MI6, you need only have asked," Q sniped back. "Bond is on the other side of the building. There's quite a few 'hostiles' in between. I dare say that even _you_ couldn't take all of them out before one of them triggers the alarm."

"That just means I get to do this the old-fashioned way," the man responded far too happily.

"Or I could trigger the security alarm for the downstairs entrance to lure some of them away? I could shut down the access to camera surveillance on their side as well, so they don't notice the discrepancy."

"Oh, a diversion. Haven't pulled that one in a while. At least not without explosives. Well, I would hate to spoil your fun. Have at it, Q." Trevelyan made it sound like it was all just a game. Like he _couldn't_ be shot dead just as easily as those two unmoving men in the hallway if one of them slipped up.

And the agent was right, of course, there was nothing to worry about because _Q_ certainly wasn't going to mess this up. "The room two doors to your right should be empty. Hide out for a moment."

To his relief the diversion actually worked to some extent. Of course, this also meant they had to be fast. "The elevator doors are closed, _go_."

Trevelyan must have agreed with Q's urgency, because he moved quickly through the hallways. "Two men outside of Bond's room. Still four inside."

An exchange of gunfire sounded too loudly through the coms and Q held his breath for a moment, but the camera in the hallway showed that Trevelyan was still standing while the other men were down.

"The hostiles in Bond's room have their guns aimed at the door, agent."

They waited for a moment, but there was no movement towards the hallway. "Can I shoot them through the door?"

"The mechanics of guns are not exactly one of my strong points, agent. But from the looks of it, the door is reinforced, whereas the walls are paper-thin."

He could see Trevelyan shake his head on the camera footage. "I was referring to their positioning in the room, but that's not a bad suggestion."

"Take the room to the right, it should provide you with the best sightlines."

The man did has he said. "In position, tell me where they are."

It was only now that Q realised what a ridiculous idea that was. "This seems like a highly improbable shot, agent. What if you shoot Bond by mistake?"

"That's why you're going to tell me where to aim, of course," Trevelyan told him calmly.

"There is no way I can do so accurately enough for you to shoot them blindly. Let's go with a different idea," he responded, speaking just a bit too rapidly.

"Oh, no, I like this one. Breathe, Q. Tell me first of all where James is."

Q closed his eyes for a brief moment and breathed deeply. It was sound advice after all. Then he refocussed. "Bond is tied to a chair, in roughly the middle of the room, back to your wall."

"I'll aim high then. The hostiles?"

"There are two on both sides of the door, shoulders against the wall, ducked down to roughly seventy percent of their height, which is similar to your own. There is one behind and a bit to the right of Bond's chair and their supposed leader nearer to the window, about five feet away from it."

Q was quite ready to keep talking, to note every little detail he could discern from the camera feed, but before he was fully prepared for it, loud pops of gunfire sounded. When he had fully registered the sound, Trevelyan had already dodged back into the hallway again, aiming at the door.

Everything was happening too fast for Q to say or do anything further – the door to the hallway opened, expelling a man who fell to the ground only seconds later. Then Trevelyan was inside, shooting the last man standing, the man nearest to Bond, and then all was quiet.

"Good afternoon, James," Trevelyan greeted casually.

"Alec. I don't suppose you'd like to help me out of these?" Q just barely picked up on the cultured voice through the earpiece.

His own agent heaved a sigh as if it was a chore but did, in fact, help his colleague get free.

A soft ping of an alert he'd put in the security system only moments earlier drew his attention. A string of text later and he had most of the bad guys trapped in the elevators. Unfortunately, some of them had elected to take the stairs. "Some of our more athletic friends are using the stairs to re-join your party. Unlike the lazy ones stuck between floors, these men I can't stop. Might I suggest a quick exit by the same route as your entry?"

"You want us to leave without saying goodbye? But that would be _rude_."

Q shook his head with something close the exasperation. "While I'm sure you are usually a perfect gentleman, perhaps providing Agent Bond with some proper medical aid is more important than 'politeness' in this case?"

Trevelyan's returning banter was half-lost to him under the sound of the announcement that the Botanical Gardens would be closing in ten minutes and to 'please make your way to the exit'.

Because of course. His voice was tight when he ordered; "Hurry up and get out of there, Trevelyan. Now."

The agent _listened_. The other man half-carried Bond out to the fire escape and Q activated the electronic lock behind them. He held his breath as the two blond agents set foot on solid ground and slowly put distance between themselves and the building.

"Sir, you need to leave. We're closing."

Q jumped at the interruption and looked up at the security guard. "Ah, yes, of course, apologies."

The man nodded at him amiably and thankfully continued on to chase off other stragglers.

"Apologies for what?" his agent asked, "What was the rush, anyway?"

Q cleared his throat and shut down most of his programs. "It appears that I have overstayed my welcome, Agent Trevelyan, I trust you will be fine from here on?"

"You've overstayed your welcome?" the Russian repeated in a tighter voice than Q was accustomed to from the man, "In my experience that means people are shooting at you. Are people shooting at you, Q?"

"Thankfully, no. But it's closing time. Which means I have to leave. Surely you didn't expect me to hack into MI6 from home?"

"Wait, is _that_ why you had us rushing from the building as if it was going to blow up? It's _closing_ _time_? Where the hell are you?"

"I'm a _hacker_ , Agent Trevelyan. If you wanted someone who only had eyes for you, you should have requested for your own tech support to provide assistance."

"Ah, but you're _so much_ more fun, Q."

"You-," Q stammered, "You are quite impossible. Do take care of your friend."

"Wait," the agent ordered.

Q, fool that he was, waited, a creeping feeling in his gut said that his agents had gotten away too easily. Was a group of heavily armed men even now closing in on the two men? Had Q made a grave error in allowing himself to be distracted by trivial matters?

"You forgot to give me your contact details," the agent said, voice exuding a roguish kind of charm, "You know, so I can say _thank you_. With flowers. Or vodka."

That man was utterly, infuriatingly impossible. He breathed out and informed his heart that it could pick up its regular rhythm again.

"I prefer Earl Grey. And you're _quite_ welcome. Q signing off."

* * *

 **A.N.** I don't know why James always ends up the damsel in distress in my stories. To be fair, though, he does have a habit of getting deep into trouble. Maybe one day I will actually write him as the badass, cool as a cucumber agent he rightfully is.


	3. Third Date

_**Third date**_

* * *

He sighed as Dante once more jumped up on his desk to make himself comfortable right on top of Q's homework assignment. Instead of shooing the beast, though, he ran his hand over the soft, black fur, letting the purring sound his cat now produced chase away his vague deadline-induced stress. A few moments later he regretfully gave Dante a gentle push and looked back down at the papers.

But while Q tried to make himself focus a yawn overtook him and it was not only because of the time of night but also due to the mind-numbing _tediousness_ of the assignment.

His apartment door opened, not particularly loudly, but the sound made him frown and look up sleepily because it was not supposed to open at all.

The large frame filling the doorway jolted him wide-awake in an instant.

"Good evening, Q," Alec Trevelyan greeted, his polite tone of voice belied by a smirk that looked even more dangerous in real life than it had through his computer screen.

The MI6 agent stepped inside, closing the door - the only means of escape - behind him. A gun was held casually in hands that were highly accustomed to wielding it and those dark eyes were assessing, clearly taking note of Q's every move.

Not that Q _was_ moving. In fact he was just sitting there, stunned at the man's sudden appearance. It shouldn't surprise him this much. Analytically he'd known that there was a possibility that MI6 would track him down. He had known that calling the man, even on a burner phone and linking up to Trevelyan's earpiece and a dozen other small things might lead back to him if he wasn't careful. And while he _had_ been careful, he had also been focussed on the task at hand – because the lives of two agents, of Trevelyan and Bond had been cradled in his very own hands and _nothing_ had been more important than assuring those two agents' survival.

Given time in advance, he might have been able to set up something more secure. As it was, he'd hoped that by hacking from elsewhere he could muddle his traces, but apparently it hadn't been enough.

He had known, logically, that the possibility existed, considering MI6 capabilities as a large spy organisation. Still, the reality of Alec Trevelyan's physical presence, armed and dangerous, was rather overwhelming.

He was still processing this sudden invasion when a growling sound interrupted – something that could really only mean one thing.

His cat was about to give the muscled agent his customary welcome for guests.

Dante _pounced_ and Q acted – he didn't even think it through, just found himself taking action in a desperate attempt to prevent himself _or_ his cat from getting murdered by a trained killer.

What followed was a moment of chaos and the sound of mechanical whirring.

"Oh, god," Q exclaimed when his brain started overruling is panic response, "Please don't shoot me. Or Dante."

Agent Trevelyan had regained his feet and raised an eyebrow, looking thoroughly amused. "In case it had escaped your notice, my gun is in _your_ hands."

Yes, the hacker realised, he was holding the man's gun. His mind ran over the last few minutes.

His insane feline had done what he always does when faced with strangers and jumped straight on the nearest limb and climbed onto the man's back and thoroughly distracted him with the sudden attack.

Q, with his view of Dante blocked by the bulk of an MI6 agent, had gone for his phone instead of his cat and activated his security system - which slammed down shutters over the windows, turned up the lights in the kitchen and brought out a sliding wall about two meters in front of his front door.

His cat, familiar with Quentin's rather paranoid security system had, naturally, made himself scarce at the first sound of the shutters, but Trevelyan had been hit in the side by the metal wall and barely managed to turn forward with the blow, ending up safely inside the perimeter but dropping his gun in the process.

And, apparently, Q had enough survival instinct to grab a gun when someone he considered a threat dropped one. Good.

He blinked and re-evaluated. No, wait, taking an MI6 agent's gun from him was probably very _bad_. He swallowed when he remembered witnessing this man spreading death throughout a warehouse in China and then once more in an office building in Prague.

He was going to die violently wasn't he?

"In my defence… Well, you. Uh. Startled me? I don't react well to sudden frightening situations. I tend to be rather unpredictable – even to myself."

"I'll make a note of it," the man replied, his stance ridiculously confident and grin predatory.

The agent took an imposing step forward. And Q, gun held awkwardly in an unaccustomed grasp, took a step back. This was repeated until, predictably, the hacker ran out of room and his back touched the wall.

He winced, staring up at the agent with wide eyes.

"Why is it that _I'm_ the one with a gun here and _still_ feeling like prey? That seems highly unfair. I object to this."

Trevelyan chuckled, a warm sound that made him feel a quite a bit better about this whole situation. "You could always give me the gun back," he suggested, "that would restore the natural balance quite nicely."

Q shook his head resolutely. "Except that the natural balance is _not_ in my favour. I object to that too."

The agent shrugged and closed in on him, a large looming form that made his breath come faster than his body should be demanding, since he was standing still. "You're objecting a lot. Am I really that objectionable? I might be feeling a tad insulted."

And Q _would_ have come up with a witty reply to that, but Agent Trevelyan was in his personal space now - so close that they were almost touching and it made it very, very difficult to focus on any sort of reply. This was a killer – a governmentally approved killer, granted, but a killer all the same. Q had seen in live action what happened to people who got on the wrong side of this dangerous man and to be honest he had _no idea_ what kind of box MI6 had classified him in. Was Q a target? Had his well-intentioned break-in to MI6 been considered that much of a crime? Or could he dare hope that his unconventional help made up for it?

A large hand was placed deceptively lightly on his arm, slowly pushing both it and the gun he was holding down. He breathed deeply, body tense but undecided whether it needed to fight or flight. His brain informed him that either option was doomed to fail, but his survival instincts insisted on doing _something_.

"Easy, Q," the man said, calm and sure and for some reason immensely reassuring. Which, of course, made no sense because _he_ was the threat here – a very real, immediate threat – so why was the agent's careful touch and deep voice soothing his fear when it was that very man that he was afraid of?

Illogical.

The hand holding onto Q's arm pushed it back against the wall, holding it tight and trapped there, with the gun pointed harmlessly at the floor. Trevelyan's other hand came up near his face and settled on Q's shoulder, fingers soothingly sweeping up and down.

Ok then, Q thought vaguely, feeling rather faint.

"Thank you for your help, Q," Trevelyan told him.

Q looked at the man with wide-eyes, finding nothing but sincerity on the agent's face. "You're welcome," he replied shakily, because it was the polite reply and also because he _meant_ it.

He didn't regret helping the agent retrieve his friend – nor could he _ever_ regret helping Agent Bond out of a tricky situation.

Even if his own carelessness, forced by the situation at hand, had led to this.

The only other option had been to leave it alone, to turn away from someone in need – someone who had sacrificed again and again for the sake of this country and that country _included Quentin_ , so really that would have been beyond ungrateful.

Moreover, Alec Trevelyan had _asked_ him for help. Him, Q, specifically – and even if the request came through others, how could he have refused?

He swallowed, wetting his dry throat. "I don't regret it," he said honestly, because before anything else, he _needed_ that to be said – he needed to make those words, that sentiment, _real_ , to give it a solid weight.

It shouldn't have made a difference, but it helped. As soon as the words left his lips Q felt steadier. He was still in trouble, he was still faced with an MI6 agent who could disappear him into some sort of governmental basement – or just _disappear him_ period.

But this had been his own choice. One that Q had made, the only one he _could_ have made, because it was the right thing to do.

Agent Trevelyan looked down at him, a broad, powerful man who could hold Q down with one hand, who could drag him away and there wasn't a single thing that the hacker could do about it. He was physically entirely outmatched.

But the agent's hold was careful, the hand on his shoulder anything but tentative, but still careful. And the man's eyes, which held Q's own, were surprisingly soft.

"Glad to hear that, Q," Trevelyan said, his voice a warm rumble that Q could practically feel against his own chest despite the fact that their bodies weren't touching beyond the man's large hands.

He sighed, breathing out his fear and feeling his tense muscles relax. A remnant of his survival instinct was still ringing alarm bells in his head, but the rest of him paid it no notice. There wasn't anything he could do about the situation so there was arguably no reason _not_ to lean forward just a little and rest his head against a solid shoulder while he took a moment to recover from the shock of it all

He heard his agent let out a huffing chuckle and felt the gun be removed from his hand – a twinge of alarm shot through him but was soothed and smoothed back down when that hand came up again, sans gun, and brushed through hair.

"I have a cat," he blurted out. Ridiculous, because the man was quite aware of that fact, considering the scratchmarks he must have gained from the silly beast.

Trevelyan snorted and Q could feel the laugh against his hair.

He cleared his throat, hiding his embarrassment by burying his reddening face even further into the agent's warm shoulder. "If you're kidnapping me, you need to take Dante too."

"Now that sounds like a splendid idea," his agent responded, something gleeful in his tone, "and I know _just_ the person to look after your furry friend while we are otherwise occupied."

Q wanted to ask what was running through the man's mind but felt it might be wiser to stay ignorant.

"I'm afraid to ask," Q said rather honestly.

"Oh, don't worry, Q, you'll be _fine_. Besides, James owes us both a favour. And he _adores_ cats. I'm sure he won't mind looking after the little devil for a few days."

He wondered if the agent was purposefully playing the whole thing down. He doubted that a hacker being brought in to a governmental agency would be something that can be resolved quickly. To be honest he'd rather not think about it too deeply at all, but…"A few days?"

"There's psych evals, debriefing with M, plenty of boring conversations I would imagine," the agent answered easily, waving it away as if was nothing.

"Boring," Q repeated breathing deeply in an out in an attempt to gather what confidence he had - reminding himself that this was his choice, that he'd walking right into this with eyes wide open so he damn well wouldn't back down now. "Yes. Right. Well, Agent Trevelyan, we should probably get that over with."

The agent backed away a little, but didn't release him. Instead of a truly restraining grip, as if Q was the prisoner that he rightly was, there was a heavy arm wrapped around his shoulders, keeping him in place against the larger man's side. "We should," Trevelyan agreed. "Go get your cat, then."

The man didn't let go, though and Q tilted his head back to look up at the man with a question on his face.

The look he received in turn was one that made him freeze, there was something far too predatory about it. "You should know, though, that if you run, I will chase you."

Q swallowed, but the hint of fear he felt at what was a real threat fell to the background as his analytical mind automatically ran through several possibilities. Even if Q managed to escape his apartment, the probability was high that the experienced agent would catch him before he managed to leave town. If Q _did_ manage to get out of this city, though, his chances would increase with every day he managed to put distance between them without leaving a trace.

Of course, that scenario would also include leaving his beloved but rather insane feline roommate behind in this room - and Q on the run of a powerful organisation that had his name, his face and years of experience with hunting down criminals.

"I'm not planning on running," his voice was almost breathless as he made that promise – he was taking another risk, but this time it was just about logical. He wasn't running until they gave him a reason to run.

Trevelyan nodded at him, "In that case, call me Alec."

The man let him go and Q stumbled back, staring up at him wordlessly. Was that a strange offer of friendship? Or were they still on different sides? Had they ever been?

"Is this how Russians make friends?" he asked, a little baffled still.

A grin took over that weathered face, filling it with roguish enjoyment. "There's usually more vodka involved. I promise I will make _that_ up to you later."

And no, Q had no idea what to do with this man. He'd allowed the agent to drag him into this mess so deeply that the hacker had nowhere left to run - and worst of all, he couldn't even find it in himself to truly regret it.

But lack of regret or no, Q still wasn't any good at handling even _normal_ social interactions – let alone _this_. Whatever it was.

"I- the cat," he stuttered, turning away quickly in the hope that the other man wouldn't see his completely unnecessary blush.

He didn't turn around when he heard the man moving around, didn't turn to look until he heard the man sit down on the only real comfortable piece of furniture in his apartment – his bed. Without meaning to, his head shot back to look at the agent who was lounging on Q's bed as if it was perfectly natural for him to do so. He looked so comfortable that it took a long moment before Q even realised that the agent was being utterly presumptuous. It was hard to protest or even feel offended, because Trevelyan seemed to somehow claim any space he entered as if it had always been his. Or maybe that was just Q's strange perception of things.

He shot a disapproving look at the man anyway, because he felt that he should at least _attempt_ to teach the unrepentant man some manners. Trevelyan, Alec, just smirked back and that look made it clear just how futile resistance would be, so Q sighed as if the man was a bother and went back to the _real_ problem at hand.

But even as he started the trial of coaxing the black menace into the cat carrier that Dante absolutely despised, he could feel the agent's eyes on him. They were surprisingly restful on his back.

He managed to gather his cat – not without trouble – a small carry-on with some clothing, cat food and other items he might need along with his laptop bag. When he was done, he disengaged the security system, turned off the electronics in his apartment and locked gazes with the patiently waiting agent.

"Ready to go?"

Q smiled ruefully, "If I say no?"

He was only half-joking, but Alec snorted and got up from the bed, closing in on him with a few easy steps.

"Then I will somehow have to carry your unconscious body, your suitcase and your cat down four flights of stairs," the agent told him, putting one steady hand against Q's back, "So say yes."

And Q actually huffed out a laugh at the image that conjured up in his mind.

"Yes," he agreed, a hint of humour still in his voice.

Alec nodded and took Q's laptop bag, slinging it around his shoulder, and it looked highly out of place on the man. With his left hand, the agent also picked up Q's small suitcase, leaving Q to carry a highly displeased Dante.

"After you, then," the agent ordered politely and Q preceded the man, leaving his apartment behind for – well, who knew how long, possibly forever.

The cat carrier jostled a little while Q trudged down the stairs, the elevator still unfixed, and Dante hissed and growled all the way down.

He hesitated in the downstairs hall, very conscious of the fact that this was an end to things. And the beginning of something highly uncertain. He turned around to look at the agent who had gotten him to this point and almost asked – what will happen to me now? How does MI6 deal with uppity hackers, do you think?

But there were no assurances the man could give him that Q would truly believe until he had seen them in truth. There was nothing for it but to wait and see.

"Bond is fond of cats, you say?" he asked instead, in a rather deadpan tone.

Trevelyan's eyes were filled with an unholy spark, "Yes, he adores the beasts."

"Liar," Q accused, lips twitching into a smile. He opened the door and went through.

There were no assurances the man could give him that Q would believe. But he _did_ have Alec's dubious friendship along with his laptop and his undoubtedly crabby cat.

Surely that counted for something?

* * *

 **A.N.** Ok so I'm pretty much re-using a similar disarming trick on Alec as I did in 'Save one, get one free' because for all that I'm creative, I'm apparently not that creative. I don't know. But hey, that one is only on AO3 due to site rules, so it's shiny and new on this site?


End file.
